For some reason, I was always had gigs with a farter. This one time, I was playing a (very) long run of “A Chorus Line.” This gig was dragging to the point that the only people who used the books were the subs. As a matter of fact, I kept a good novel or magazine on the stand and slept during the breaks between numbers. Well, the farting thing became endemic during the run of the show, and there was never a gap in the music that someone didn’t try to “fill.”

If you’ve ever played “A Chorus Line,” you’ll know that towards the end of the show, there’s a long, LOOOONG, monologue by the character, Paul San Marcos, who is talking to the offstage producer, Zack.  In this monologue, Paul is revealing/re-living his torrid relationship with his father and “being outed” when his parents were supposed to meet him after a show, but they were early and saw him performing a most explicit act.  The show was “really tacky” and he was dressed in a ridiculous drag outfit. Insofar as monologues go, it was pretty good, but after the first dozen times, you get a little sick of the acting – you know, the same fake cry, pregnant pauses, etc. The other unfortunate thing was that it was, as I mentioned, very close to the end of the show, and we were all in, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” mode. So in the pit, we would read, sleep, study, pack the gear we didn’t need anymore – whatever – just to pass the time.  This was back in 1985, so there wasn’t any texting or handheld devices that were of much use in the pit. We had to entertain ourselves (God forbid!). Our drummer would usually lie on his back on the floor with his feet up on the drum stool and either doze off or just stare into space. As was standard practice in most theaters, the sound guy would shut off the sound feed from the pit during breaks in the music, for obvious good reasons – page turning, shifting in chairs, dropping mutes or sticks, tuning tympani, etc.

This night, the sound guy forgot to shut the stage monitors down (thankfully, he remembered to shut off the house sound from the pit). At the end of the monologue, there’s a part where Paul starts to cry and says, “…and just before my parents left, my father turned to the producer and said [short, dramatic pause], ‘Take care of my son.’ That was the first time he ever called me that…I…uh…I…[sobbing]”  Immediately after he says the last line and leave the stage sobbing, there’s a beautiful oboe solo of the melody, “Who am I, Anyway.”

At the very point in this monologue when he pauses after saying, “and my father turned to the producer and said,” the drummer, lying on the floor, on his back, with his feet up on the stool, farts the perfect fart. It sounded like a nice slow quarter note with a “doit” accent – minus the “trumpet kiss” at the end, of course. Well, this played loud and clear on stage and in the dressing rooms.

That oboe solo was the most difficult 8 bars of music that I’ve ever played in my life! If you’ve never played the oboe, the control and back-pressure that you need to get a steady tone is astounding – and coming up from a 12 minute break, horn cold, and trying not to laugh…man, I was proud of myself that night! As soon as the stage went dark, we heard the distinctive sound of marching coming from the stage, through the backstage area and up the pit stairs. The door burst open loudly, and (I’m not trying to offend anyone here, it’s just how it happened) and the actor, literally lisping from his “affectation,” hissed at the drummer, who was in hysterical fits of laughter – as were the rest of the pit musicians, except for the piano-conductor, who was really getting tired of all the farting – “Wazz that youuuu?” The stage manager was livid, the cast thought we were heroes, and the farting only got more aggressive, the sound guy became vigilant. What a run!!!